


Ramassé

by Alastael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4623495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alastael/pseuds/Alastael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected mini-fictions and false starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Always (Dean/Cas, M)

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tendency to start projects that I never finish, or write miniature fictions that don't necessarily warrant their own post here at ao3. As I move my Supernatural-related works over, it seems more appropriate to collect these smaller bits into a single collection (even if it's 80% less likely to be read.) Each chapter is a separate piece, and specific pairings and kinks will be noted at the start of each.
> 
> So hello, welcome, enjoy these bites of porn and fluff, and truly, if there's anything you want more of, ask and I will honestly do my best to indulge. ❤︎

**Always.** Dean/Castiel. Sexual content, fluff, feelings.

 

Those blue eyes, heavy-lidded with fatigued desire, stare up at Dean as Cas’s chest heaves labored breaths and his legs slacken their hold at his waist. Dean squeezes his hand, their bodies threaded together at even the smallest joints. He doesn’t pull out, just leans his weight into Cas, kissing at his shoulder, his collarbone, his neck. When he reaches his lips, Cas’s eyes slide closed, gasping breath hitching, and he whines softly into Dean’s mouth. Dean smiles, suckling gently at his bottom lip.

When Dean shifts his hips away to land next to him, Cas moans softly, his own body turning to follow Dean’s. They pull into one another, bodies curled outward but legs tangled together and foreheads pressed close. Their fingers find each other again, palms together.

Dean’s breath is warm against his face, in his mouth, as his heart finally slows into the even rhythm of impending sleep. Cas’s lips twitch into a smile, and he whispers, “Dean.”

Dean’s response is just a noise, something that may have been on its way to being a word, and he lifts his head enough to place a kiss at the curve of Cas’s cheek.

“This is what I always thought it would be like,” Cas is still whispering, pulling their linked hands up to kiss at the bones of his knuckles. He doesn’t need to whisper, of course, but it feels right.

“Always?” Dean continues trailing his lips along Castiel’s skin.

“Always.”


	2. Stir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Stir.** Implied Dean/Cas, implied Sam/Cas, jealousy, fluff, and cooking.

_**It** _ starts with rice krispie treats because, as Dean says, it is “literally impossible to fuck up rice krispie treats.”

Cas is attentive and focused, slapping Dean’s hands away from the bag of marshmallows as he waits for the butter to melt. They are researching, tomes of ancient, dry information spread out on the table between them, but Dean can’t keep his hands to himself, wandering fingers sneaking marshmallows away at every opportunity.

Sam isn’t reading either, though his distractions lie in the ease with which Castiel moves now that he has settled into his vessel, the bunker, and their lives. The lift of his arm as he stirs in the first cup of marshmallows makes his t-shirt lift just slightly to reveal a strip of skin over the waistband of new jeans, too long; his socked toes wiggling just slightly in anticipation of his success.

“Dude, I told you,” Dean jabs him playfully in the ribs, making Cas huff and shift away. “They are like, the easiest thing ever.”

Heat twists in Sam’s abdomen, burning from his heart straight into his groin. He knows he has no right to be jealous, but it is difficult not to be; Dean’s personality has never been a solid, steady thing, the John Winchester influence shaping him even now, but Castiel’s continued presence has a way of drawing out an affectionate, playful side that Sam hasn’t known in years. Decades, maybe.

Profound bond, indeed.

Dean is leaning, too close, to look over Cas’s shoulder into the pot, and Sam rises and crosses the kitchen to join them almost without realizing it.

“Looks good, Cas,” Sam smiles, his hand landing in the middle of Cas’s back. It lingers perhaps a moment too long, until Cas moves to press the sticky cereal mixture into the pan. He offers the mixing bowl to Sam, a small glob of marshmallow and cereal resting at the bottom, and they exchange unreadable expressions as Sam licks his own fingers clean.


	3. In the Kitchen (Wincestiel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **In the Kitchen.** Wincestiel, explicit. Polyamory, blowjobs, comeplay, implied d/s, exhibitionism. A prompt from [sammyatstanford](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyatstanford/pseuds/sammyatstanford), my accomplice in most things pornographic.

The kitchen feels smaller with the makeshift workstation Sam and Cas have set up in the center. Though the island is always there, the space around it has been eaten up by the bodies of two grown men on stools, hunching over laptops. And Dean has less counter space because of it.

“Can’t you nerds take it somewhere else?” He whips a kitchen towel at the Apple logo on the back of the open screen, making Sam scowl and snatch at the air, reflexes slowed by his third beer. Dean just laughs as he drapes the towel over his shoulder, turning back to the industrial stove. They aren’t even researching; supernatural entities have been suspiciously quiet, making Dean restlessly domestic. The amount of time he’s spent in the kitchen led Cas, then Sam, to set up camp there too. They’re just _that codependent_ , Dean had sneered.

Yet here they are.

Cas isn’t reading anymore, watching instead the way Dean sways as he moves. He feels Sam shift beside him, their shoulders pressed together as a hand skims up his thigh. His gaze travels down, tracing the path of Sam’s fingers and up his bare arm. It’s startling to see Sam staring at him, a smirk playing across his features as he squeezes Cas’s thigh.

Dean is humming softly to himself as Sam leans, lips trailing from the side of Cas’s mouth down, teeth grazing the tanned skin of Castiel’s neck as his hand jumps to the waistband of his jeans. It makes Cas jerk, his gaze never leaving Dean.

It’s an agreement they have, this relationship. This _love_. Share and share alike, but they’re all selfish, in their own way, and Dean hates being left out.

Cas nearly gasps as his pants are unbuttoned, and Sam holds a finger to his lips, a silent warning. He mouths, be good, as his hand snakes inside Castiel’s thrift store jeans, fingers teasing at the swelling flesh. Cas is just so easy, turned on at the slightest provocation, and Sam loves exploiting it.

Knuckles white at the edge of the table, Castiel squirms, hips grinding his erection into Sam’s hand. It feels so good, so Cas closes his eyes, mouth dropping to release the smallest whine –

“What are you making?” Sam’s question makes Cas snap his mouth close. He looks up, and Sam hasn’t looked away, his smile predatory. Dean glances over his shoulder, dismissive.

“Fish tacos with an avocado sauce. Thought it sounded good.”

“Sounds great,” Sam hums his agreement. “Right, Cas?”

He chokes on a sound in the back of his throat as Sam’s finger traces the slit of cock, slick with precome. “Yes, yes. Sounds fine,” he breathes, tensing as Dean’s swaying stops. There’s a moment of stillness, Cas’s breath caught in his throat until Dean moves to the refridgerator, never glancing back.

Sam shakes with silent laughter, and Cas swings his fist half-heartedly into Sam’s gut. He’s caught, and Sam offers a wolfish grin as he presses Cas’s hand down against his crotch, jeans tight over his erection. He pulls his hand from Castiel’s pants as he tries to twist away, grabbing the back of his neck. They freeze again as Dean yanks a drawer open noisily, humming as he draws a paring knife out.

“Sam,” Cas hisses as fingers slide up to tug at his mess of dark hair. They’re like children, suddenly separating as Dean turns, glancing suspiciously between them. The smallest smirk pulls at his lips but vanishes just as quickly as it appeared, and he returns to his salsa.

Free of Sam’s grip, Cas grins in mock-triumph as Sam unbuttons his own jeans, squirming to push them down enough to pull his cock free. He stares at Cas expectantly, and Cas returns the look with annoyance, mouthing a denial.

His face burns with heat as Sam looks him up and down before sparing a glance at Dean. Sam knows how to play him, to twist that desire to serve just the right way, and Cas really doesn’t mind. He just tries to make him earn it. Sam’s eyes trace a path to the floor as he mouths again, _be good_. And Cas wants to be so, so good.

His knees hit the linoleum silently, keeping his gaze downcast because yeah, Sam knows how to play him, but Cas knows how to play this game too. Fingers brush through his hair before tightening, drawing him closer. Eyes closed, he feels the head of Sam’s cock press against his lips, and Cas opens, tongue pressing against the slit. Sam breathes out through his nose, his hand tightening on Cas’s head for a moment. Cas gently suckles at the tip, teasing, and Sam uses his grip to press Cas’s nose slowly, slowly against his stomach. He can feel the clench of his throat working around his length and Sam sighs, relaxing so that Cas can pull back just enough.

Eyes closed, Cas breathes slowly through his nose before moving, swallowing as he presses forward again. He swallows around Sam’s cock again, pulling the length into his throat and he chokes but doesn’t move as Sam grinds his hips into his face. “Fuck, Cas –”

A whimper vibrates around Sam’s cock and he uses both hands to pull Castiel off, letting him gasp once before pulling him back onto his dick. He hisses, “Yeah, so good,” before a groan slips out. Dean’s response is a dark laugh.

“Just couldn’t wait, I guess.”

When Sam lets him up again, Cas pants, eyes rolling up to Dean, leaning over the counter to watch. He smirks, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Cas drags a hand over his face, collecting the drool leaking down his chin, and reaches to jerk Sam’s cock. It’s an excuse to rest his jaw, and one that Sam sees right through. He slides off the stood and stands, cock bumping Cas’s cheek. He replaces Cas’s hand with his own, jerking slowly, as Cas waits, fingers tight on Sam’s leg. When he moves to lick a stripe long the length, Sam catches him by the hair again, holding him in place.

“No, you didn’t want it, so now you just have to wait for it,” Sam growls as his pace quickens, hand tightening over his length. He twists Cas to look at Dean as he gets close; Castiel’s mouth opens reflexively as he feels Sam tense above him.

He feels it on his cheek first, then his brow. Sam relaxes, letting Cas take his cock into his mouth for the last of it. He licks him clean, come cooling on his face. As he starts to collect it with his fingers, Dean tosses the towel at him.

“Can’t let you ruin your dinner, now, can we?”


	4. Boundaries (Dean/Cas, x)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Create Boundaries with Your Skin.** Dean/Cas, explicit. Body horror, night terrors, gore, vivisection, sexual content, implied dub-con. Perhaps you've noticed I have essentially forty nine versions of the same fic littered throughout my breadth of work. I just love fucking with Cas.

Your breath is ragged, labored and hot heavy humid on his neck. You pull yourself in, fingers tight on the skin of his back and you can feel the tremor of muscle as he works inside you.

You barely feel it, now, the slick slide of his hands inside, mapping the lines of your ribs and pressing.

The first cut had been torture, serrated edge splitting sternum to hip. You watched the even parting of the skin and you cried. He kissed your tears and murmured nonsensical affectations into your skin as his fingers found the line, fingertips a voyeuristic caress.

You don’t know what he’s looking for, one hand working your ribs apart - it hurts, so you cry out, maybe scream, and feel his silencing mouth over yours - while the other runs, slow and languid, over your genitals, squeezing the viscera lubricant squelching. You still cry out.

He licks at your tears, bruising bite kisses staining your skin, and when he finally breaks your ribs, oh. He moans, and it’s a mantra, a meditation of _fuck, angel, I’m so close_ while you never stop screaming, hysterical and exhausting.

Drag your hands down slick flesh and leave your own mark, fuck his hand as he finds it, finally, fingers brushing the tender muscle of your heart and _you feel that, angel, yeah,_ and when he squeezes, you scream, you come, but you scream.

You wake with his hand ghosting over your chest, tracing the letters of an alphabet unknown and you seize, panic, but he kisses your nape and hums low in your ear that _its okay, shh._ Trust is important, you know, in this fragile thing, so you turn, face him, and struggle to breathe when he leans forward and kisses your tears away.

 


	5. Good (Wincestiel, x)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Good.** Wincestiel, explicit. D/s, caning, comeplay, bondage, jealousy. Based on this delightful late night tumblr askbox prompt: _As wincestiel fic where cas likes being used by Sam and dean in bed with heavy bondage._

It’s strange, sometimes, the way their roles shift; Winchester personalities are fluid, subjective, need-based. Castiel has used this to their advantage. 

Their advantage because to say his own would be misleading. 

Dean needs an outlet as much as anybody, and they’ve worked up to this, Sam and Cas carefully picking at those walls – Dean has so many, built from bricks of guilt, expectation, failure. 

It’s therapy cleverly disguised as an angel, naked and shaking on a hotel bed, and his brother’s hands stilling him with fingers in his hair. 

Dean lets his fingers, cool and comforting, drag across the heated flesh of Castiel’s ass, red and raw and obscene, given the angle. The answering whimper is muffled in Sam’s shirt. 

“Shh, I know. But it wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t needed to start over, right?” Dean takes a step back, and the cane cuts through the air fast enough to whistle. Cas is very good, jerking just slightly up the bed, further into Sam’s lap.

“Seven,” Sam murmurs, checking Cas’s blindfold, and Dean thinks his brother is a saint, sometimes. At the very least, he has a very good poker face, despite the conspicuous erection. He hasn’t touched himself once, save for removing his pants, letting the way Cas writhes against him do the work for him. 

Arms wrenched back and bound, Cas doesn’t have much of a choice. He’s face down in Sam’s lap, knees pressed to the mattress and ass in the air. His legs were free now – Dean has little patience for the nuances of shibari, so he prefers to work with the tape; his own impatience backfired when Cas escaped the first time. And they had been so close to ten. 

He skims the tip of the cane down the crack of Cas’s ass, making the angel squirm, the tape flexing around his arms, and Dean grins, offering a sharp rap against his thigh. “Still.”

There’s a long moment in which Dean just watches as Cas wills himself to relax into the bonds, rolling his shoulders and shifting. There’s a wet spot on Sam’s shirt where Cas has been gagging himself.

Sam cards his fingers through the angels mess of hair, his jaw twitching as Cas nuzzles at the base of his cock, and something ugly flares in Dean’s gut. He won’t say it’s jealousy, because he doesn’t have to be jealous – it’s _his_ angel. 

This time, the snap of the cane against his ass makes Cas cry out, and Sam’s head snaps up. “Eight,” he states carefully, and Dean doesn’t meet his gaze before letting another fly. When he does look up, Sam answers with a strange look. “Nine. Last one.”

Cas trembles slightly as Dean balances the cane on his calves so he can put both hands, cool and comforting, against the abused flesh on his ass. Parts are already starting to bruise, and Dean takes a breath. This is okay. They both want this. 

“Dean,” Cas’s voice cracks slightly, but he hears the question there. One hand moves to press a thumb at Cas’s hole, as Dean grabs his own cock. He should feel bad for this, right? Getting off on beating someone? 

The thought makes him harder, and he bites his lip and reaches for the cane. “Last one. God, Cas, you are so good.”

Castiel’s answering whimper erupts into a sob as the last one hits, and Dean drops the cane to place a steadying hand on him instead. “Ten,” he growls, jerking himself off with quick, rough strokes. “Fuck, Cas–”

He comes watching his little brother do the same, a hand tight in Cas’s hair as he paints his face. Sam smears it across his lips and Cas just takes it, licking him clean. 

Dean groans, and drags a hand through his own jizz, and down. Cas gasps as he works him over. “Such a good boy, Cas, aren’t you? You just fucking eat it up, anything we do to you. Let us use you up, just like a good bitch.”

Cas comes hard, sobbing a mantra of yes, yes, yes, against Sam. 

It takes them a moment to collect themselves, but once Cas has been cut free, they collapse together onto the bed, all tangled limbs and heavy eyelids. 

Dean’s lips reach Cas’s forehead, though he looks at his brother.

“Thank you." 


	6. Three Words (Dean/Cas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three one-word microfictions. Dean/Cas, sexual content.   
> Just when you thought I couldn't write any less than I already do.

**Mass**

His heart is suddenly a heavy weight in his chest, pressing the air from his borrowed lungs and a current through his veins; his cheeks burn with the effort, but for the first time, he is the first to look away.

**Feral**

When they first collide, it’s a wild thing and he cannot even fathom from where in his nature such actions would originate - harsh, and human and filthy and pure.

**Maps**

They made love in Dean’s bed, mapping one another with their mouths and learning that the terrain hasn’t changed much.

Cas slept on Dean’s chest, fingers in his hair as he listened to the echoes of Dean’s murmured lullaby, _I love you. Don’t leave me again. Stay with me. I need you._

 

 


	7. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The End.** Project murderous fantasy pairings upon this as you so desire. Implied violence, implied sexual content.

We are all dying  
And I can only think  
Of our last fight or  
The way your body twists  
Under my hands  
Proficient, dangerous

I imagine your face   
In ecstasy and it isn’t  
Much different than  
The way it looks now

I think of   
The way your blood  
Seeps from your body  
In time with your heart  
And how much faster  
I can make it beat


End file.
